How did the goldfish get in the buttery-bowl
left on the table after the crabs were consumed?  

I’m alone at the table while you visit the Ladies,
eavesdropping mocking words from the next booth.  

Scooping out the hapless, limp fish, an aborted
rescue – only the single snail is still wriggling-live.  

I wonder where you are and when this dual vacation
switched gears to singular – and what-is-the-deal  

with the fish? Maybe I should check on you.
I pass the booth with the taunting cool-people,
 
searching past the restrooms and finding a room
with a queen-sized bed, odd for a crabshack…  

You are buried in blankets with a tousled young man
and, miraculously, you are now young, too.  

Speechless, I can’t see a clear message or hear
your expression. what – why…Why? No, wait.  

You speak in a voice I remember in a bad dream
But you didn’t think we were together, did you?